


the morning will come again.

by crystallinedewdrops (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Team as Family, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, bandmates as family more like, raccoon garbage man jack morrison, self-destructive behaviour, talon is a metal band, unhealthy lifestyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11923005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crystallinedewdrops
Summary: He lives for this. This is what he was born for. He knows this, can feel the energy coming from the crowd's loud roar, can feel the adrenaline running through his veins; he is covered in sweat and washed in multi-coloured lights, smoke obscuring half of his body.He will be ok. They'll be alright.—Band AU.DISCONTINUED AS OF NOV. 30, 2018.





	1. lost on you.

**Author's Note:**

> i noticed there is a huge lack of metal band au so im gonna remedy that. not beta'd btw so all the mistakes are my own forgive me; the song gabriel sings is [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn3wJ1_1Zsg) i know it's not metal but gabe is singing a cover of the song.

The screams and energetic cries haven't died down yet, rising in volume each passing minute until it reached a certain amount, a roar going through the crowd of 30,000 people that came to see them – and other artists, as well -- perform tonight; it's almost unbelievable how popular they had become. The multi-coloured spotlights overhead shedding some lighting over the crowd and the smoke all around them, and from his spot at the center of the stage he can see the hands raised, fingers curled into the devil's horns symbol or in a fist.

He lives for this. This is what he was born for. He knows this, can feel the energy coming from the crowd's loud roar, can feel the adrenaline running through his veins; he is covered in sweat and washed in multi-coloured lights, smoke obscuring half of his body. He knows that this is also what his bandmates – his friends feel. 

( friendship was something he knew, way back when he was in a band with a beautiful brown woman with sharp eyes and a great sense of humour, a blond, blue-eyed, square-jawed man that he inevitably fell in love for, a man thrice his size with a gentle soul and a booming laughter, and so many others that were dragged into a messy affair with the company; friendship was something he found, and would do anything to keep. )  


It is a great feeling, to sing his heart out to a crowd this large, to feel like he is, in some way some how, connected with this many strangers just through feelings put into music and lyrics that speak volumes about a great many things.

He grabbed a water bottle, mind running a mile a minute, and drank until the bottle was nearly finished. The next song they're going to perform is a cover, a song that he fell in love with ( just like how he fell in love with the very man that ended up breaking his heart and disappearing ) the first time he listened to it – the lyrics, the emotions, everything about the song had spoken to him, throwing him back in time when everything was through rose-coloured glasses and they believed that they were ok; it was the first time in many years that he broke down ( first time was when they received an award for their album, he went back to the hotel room and cried, cried, and cried until the only thing he felt was this liberating emotion – happiness wasn't unknown to him, but he knew that the reason he felt that way back then was because of how well-loved his hardwork was. ) and he finally calmed down the only feeling was this numbness that overcame him, and then the bone-deep exhaustion settled in, weighting him down, pulling him further into memories he would rather not remember. The past was the past and it should stay that way.  
Shaking his head to free himself from the thoughts, he grabbed the acoustic guitar and slung it over his neck then went towards the mic, "now this song… well, it might break your heart so be sure you've brought tissues with you. This song is called Lost On You," looking at Amelie to signal that she can began the first notes, and the lights dimmed, leaving only a few so that they wouldn't be drenched in total darkness – though that'd be preferable, seeing as his heart is beating too fast and his memories threatening to overwhelm him – and then he began to strum on the guitar.

" _When you get older, plainer, saner, will you remember all the danger that we came from? Burning like embers, falling, tender, longing for the days of no surrender years ago, and will you know. So smoke 'em if you got 'em, 'cause it's going down, all I ever wanted was you. I'll never get to heaven 'cause I don't know how_ ," he began to pour everything he is feeling, all the desperation and sorrow and sadness that he bottled up for so long, into this one song – he let the memories of past that he led flood his mind, he's not paying that much attention to the crowd's reaction, too lost in the emotions flooding every ounce of his body, in remembering how he had felt for the blond that broke his heart, in remembering how happy he was – married to him, they had a life together before everything was torn apart and the rug snatched from beneath them in a sudden twist of events.

" _Let's raise a glass or two to all the things that I've lost on you, tell me are they lost on you? Just so that you could cut me loose, oh oh, after everything I've lost on you. Is that lost on you? Is that lost on you?_ " He can feel the tears stinging his eyes, ready to fall, blurring his vision when he opened his eyes – when has he closed them? – to see the crowd, and oh, oh, his heart stuttered a beat at the bright little lights illuminating the place like little fireflies in the dark, waving left and right – he had to close his eyes, the tears already slipping down his face voice and hands shaking, but he continued, persisted, to pour everything he has to offer into this one song. 

( what will the people say when they realize that the great singer Gabriel Reyes has cried? He doesn't care what they say about him, it isn't a crime to show some emotions every now and then and it is certainly not a crime to cry about a love that was so perfect and was lost. )

" _So smoke 'em if you got 'em 'cause it's going down, all I ever wanted was you. Let's take a drink of heaven, this can turn around. Let's raise a glass or two to all the things I've lost on you, tell me are they lost on you? Just so you can cut me loose, after everything I've lost on you. Is that lost you? Is that lost on you?_ "  
The tempo of the song, melancholic and desperate, continued after the last of the lyrics were screamed into the microphone, and he's lost in the emotions and memories rolling through him, overwhelming him – he can hear the crowd's loud "oh oh oh" but did not dare to open his eyes again. 

( what is he so afraid of that he doesn't want to open his eyes? Is it the crowd's reaction to him crying – pity or sympathy? – or is it the memories that are pouring through him, drowning him like a waterfall? The dam has broken and he knows that there is no way he can stop torrent, not any time soon. )

Even when the music stopped and he felt a hand – small, lithe, with calloused fingers – rubbing his back, he did not want to open his eyes but he did anyway despite half of his mind telling him not to, and looked from the corner of his eyes at Sombra – oh. Oh. It isn't pity that he expected but something else, something warmer, gentler, tender in a way that left him breathless for a moment – sympathy, it was sympathy that he saw in her eyes.  
He closed his again, took deep, ragged, shaking breathes to calm himself, wiped his tears with his hands, and nodded once, twice, in reassurance – to himself? to his friends? – before opening his eyes again. The chants did not stop, nor did the little fireflies-like lights of the crowd's phones, lighting up the place and making him wonder what did he – they, Talon -- do to deserve this.

"Alright!! God, you guys are something tonight! Now, by popular demands from you guys, we will sing this one last song and I want every single one of you to sing it. Are you ready?" A roar went up, the spotlights flickered to the beat of the drums -- he looked back to see Akande's concerned gaze and he gave a nod before looking back at the crowd, knowing full well what that concern meant and at the same time not being able to handle the weight of it, at least not now -- and the little fireflies of lights went down though he can see there are a few lingering here and there; he smiled. Not his usual bright one, it's a little broken, a little shaky, but it is a smile nonetheless. "I'm sorry I couldn't hear that, I said are you guys ready?!" A louder, almost thunderous, roar was his answer. Grinning, he nodded. Reassurance to himself, to his bandmates – his friends, family -- as much as it is a reply back to the audience.

_He'll be ok, they'll be alright._ He thought to himself and traded the acoustic guitar for an electric guitar, and with that final thought he lost himself in the next song and in the crowd's enthusiasm and love. _It'd be alright._


	2. lost art.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the concert, gabriel heals. in another city, a broken soul reflects on his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: suicide ideation ( mentioned, its literally just one line but just to be safe ), unhealthy lifestyle and coping mechanism. if i missed anything please tell me !!
> 
> unbeta'd so all the mistakes are my own sobs

Their break room backstage is nothing short of a mess, with the occasional clothes thrown everywhere and the makeup mixed together, but at least their essential things like the guitar picks, something Sombra can't leave outside — she says it's for good luck and Gabriel believes her, she rarely if ever uses any other picks aside from those. Her backstory is a mystery to him and to other bandmates, but they all know that she was in a gang when she was young, used for her hacking skills that could surpass any other, and in exchange she’d have a roof over her head; as much as she could anyway.

Gabriel knows all of their pasts, and they all know his. that's how they know they can trust each other; paranoia is a demon in disguise, specifically when you've lost everything you have ever worked hard for. He is not sure whether it’s trust or because she likes being mysterious, Sombra, but he knows this: he’d trust her — Akande and Amelie as well — with his own life if it came down to it. They have become so much more than just bandmates to him. He is grateful that they are with him on this road.

Flopping down on the clothes-covered couch and kicking his feet up on the table in front of him, he allowed himself to wind down, the adrenaline rush that he felt earlier leaving his body exhausted and muscles tired, his throat hurts, but it’s worth it. He can’t complain, he has chosen this life. He allowed himself to relax, head tilting back and closing his eyes, he can feel the couch dip and a hand running through his hair, sweaty and curled as it is. A noise escaped him, he always loved it when someone played with his hair and he bet Akande knows this; his lips curled in a small, content smile. “You guys were amazing tonight,” he said, feeling the need to say this — to compliment them. To let them know how much they mean to him.

“Aren’t we always?” Sombra chirped from wherever she is, he is too tired and content to open his eyes and see where she is.

“Just take the compliment.” He can hear her chuckle as he murmured, the fondness he feels for them clear in his tone. The fingers did not stop massaging his scalp and he can feel himself melt, falling sideways to land on Akande’s shoulder. He knows that the others are worried about him, but he also knows that they’d keep their distance; if he wants to talk about what happened on the stage, why he broke down in front of a large audience, then they will listen. He knows that because it is the same for the rest of them. He is grateful for that because he absolutely does not want to talk about it, at least not right now.

He finally opened his eyes, he needs a shower. He got up, took a towel, and started to wipe away the sweat; all things considered, tonight was a good one, he can confide in that fact because he still feels raw, too open, after the incident on the stage. It is something that grounds him, something that gives him comfort — and in certain cases, discomfort — knowing the effect he has on people that goes to their concerts. He knows all of this.

On their tour bus, having packed up everything and getting ready to move to yet another city, Gabriel lies in his bunk bed, notebook and a pen in hand, and headphones on to draw out the sounds of Sombra’s teasing tones, Amelie’s weird sense of humor, and Akande’s jokes. He just needs a moment for himself, finish this rough song draft, and then he will go join them. He tends to get lost in the tones and lyrics of the songs he listens to while songwriting, or reading, or working out really; it is a habit of his that he doesn’t want to break any time soon, it keeps him going, doing what he does best. And in getting lost he never notices anything else but the emotions behind the singer’s words, behind the fast-paced drums and guitar notes and heavy baselines.

It keeps him inspired even though he loses all perceptions of his surroundings as he does so.

It also makes him get lost in the memories that he revisits every now and then — he doesn’t completely represses the memories but he also doesn’t like to think too much on it, even though it hurts him knowing that the people who had fucked him over are still out there, living in safety and privilege. But that is what his songs are about, corporate corruptions, the dark, sick, underbelly of everything that is going on around the world; he knows that music can inspire people, and so he uses it to inspire them, to make them more and more aware of the blackmail, the manipulation, the silencing of the people who stood up and spoke against them, exposing them for who they really are.

Gabriel snapped out of his thoughts when he felt the bed dip under an extra weight, and looked up to see Akande, and the concern he sees in the other’s eyes made his heart stutter a beat or two before going back to normal.

Grabbing his phone — he needs to charge it — to pause the song playing, he then turned his gaze back at the other man. “I didn't hear you comin’ in,” saying that he also took off his headphones and put the notebook down, giving the other man his full attention.

“Are you alright? Saw you tearing up tonight.” Ah. He doesn’t throw softballs, just gets straight to the point. Gabriel nodded, still emotionally exhausted and raw from the incident on the stage.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“You don’t look like it,” Akande glanced at the notebook then raised a brow at him, which made him purse his lips. “Go rest and leave the writing for another day, your health is more important,” his hand came to rest on Gabriel’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Gabriel.” Ah, he is in that kind of mood then. Crossing his arms on his chest and tilting his head to the side a little bit, a challenge to make him stop doing what he was doing before he was interrupted.

Akande’s lips lifted a fraction but he still held the stern look, and the stare down continued for a few more minutes before Gabriel deflated and rolled his eyes, lips forming a pout — he’d rather go through hell than admit that it happened to anyone, he has a reputation to maintain here. Throwing his hands up, he said, “fine fine! Ok I will take a break. Did you need something?”

It was Akande’s turn to purse his lips, the little smile that was on his face slipping away; that was unfair of Gabriel, he realizes that now as the other man takes a deep breath and exhales.

“I can’t be concerned for a friend, now?”

“God.. I’m sorry. Look—”

“Something – someone – made you cry, if you want to talk about it I’m here.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and his heart feels too heavy for him to carry all of a sudden; glancing down at the notebook and the lyrics and scribbles on it, he closed his eyes and clenched his fingers into a fist, his silence is an answer enough — he isn’t ready to talk about it. He doesn’t know if he can revisit those memories again, what happened on the stage was an incident he’d rather forget it ever happened in the first place.

What happened way back then was also a mistake ( a part of him doesn’t believe it to be one, and he hates that more than anything. )

“I don’t…”

“That’s fine. Whenever you’re ready, I – we – will be here. Now, want some food?”

Gabriel took a deep breath, held it and counted to five before releasing, and nodded. Opening his eyes and looking at Akande, he said in a tone that he doesn’t quite believe in: “Is there anythin’ in the kitchen or did Sombra ate all of it?” That at least got a huff of a laugh from his friend. They both got up from the bed, the notebook and music player forgotten for the time being, and wandered into where the small kitchen and living area were located on the bus.

“Please tell me there is no pineapples on that pizza or I swear to God, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens.” He said, sitting on the couch in the living area; there’s no table, only two couches facing each other on both sides of the interior of the bus, the small kitchen is less of a kitchen and more of a sink, a few cabinets, a small fridge, and a microwave. They need a bigger tour bus, he’d have to talk to their manager about it.

Sombra overdramatically gasped, eyes still glued on the TV where both she and Amelie are playing a videogame — they, at least, have enough room for a TV and a console, in the bus so that’s a small blessing — and from the looks of it Sombra is winning. Amelie would not be happy. She can be competitive if she wants to be.

—

Tonight was not a good night ( but when was it ever? )

This is not how he wanted it to end but here he is, hands bloodied and knuckles bruised, his nose is bleeding, god he hopes it is not broken at least, and all he can feel is the all-consuming emptiness and rage, and nothing else.

This, being the fact that he had just fought a couple of assholes in a back alley no one cares about. Its laughable, really, how far he had fallen from grace. After everything he had went through too.

He is a pathetic old man now, and no one remembers him — if they ever do it’s to mention the lawsuits, the blackmail, the conspiracy that ultimately had led the Old Soldiers to their downfall — and it is better that way. He can fade into obscurity and no one would be the wiser.

Donning his gloves on, Jack walked to where his motorcycle is parked, mind and body numb as he drives through the winding streets to where his run-down apartment is.

It is better this way, he tells himself every waking hour as he goes through sleepless nights, days blurring and passing by as he goes through the motion of forcing himself up from the bed and out of the door to go to work, and then to the seedy bars where he drinks himself to a stupor and, depending on what day it is of the week, pick up someone who’d fuck him stupid, maybe beat some assholes within an inch of their lives, and then he goes and holes himself up in his sad excuse of an apartment.

And it repeats every day.

It’s a routine by now. He knows it is self destructive in nature, the things he does, but he’d rather have this than think about the days where he foolishly, stupidly, saw everything through rose-tinted glasses. He also knows this: it is his fault that they fell, he was the one who led them — his friends, the people who cared and loved and supported him — to their demise, and he was the one who had the nerve to fucking trust them in the first place. He remember the fights and thick tensions that weighed them down every passing hour, remembers the shouting matches about lawsuits, about conspiracies, him being too fucking blind to see what was right in front of him.

He remembers and no matter how much he drinks he cannot seem to forget. And it hurts. It hurts so much that, some days, he’d break down from the weight of everything and cry until he inevitably falls asleep. How many times he has woken up to his tear-stained, hollowed cheeks, feeling nothing and everything at the same time, he has lost count.

In between the job, going to the bars, and picking up unnecessarily fights, he also works to bring the people that used him to bring them down. It is the least he can do to redeem himself. Though it’s a slow progress as of now.

It is a routine that he makes himself go through because there is no alternative in sight.

Because of his job as an employee at a music shop, he knows that Gabriel, the very person he had loved, married, and fought, has formed a band, and that they’re more successful, more popular, than the Old Soldiers; in a quiet, dark place in his heart that he dares not to visit most days, he feels pride and love bloom for the man that was everything to him. He shuts that part down quickly lest it brings up memories he doesn’t want to remember, memories he drinks to forget, but ultimately he still thinks of those times and it hurts so bad that he wants to carve his own heart out and throw it, or burn it, whichever comes first. He would rather not have one.

Unworthy, undeserving, unloved; those are his thoughts most days, when his body is bleeding and bruised and he smells like vomit and trash and alcohol. It is better that way, he tells himself, but is it really? he wouldn't know.

This is his punishment, and he is tired. So tired.

He enters his apartment and doesn’t even bother to take off his clothes before throwing himself into the hard mattress; his studio apartment, is run down, the mattress is in the living room where it serves as both something to sleep on and somewhere to sit, the weights that he might as well have stolen are strewn here and there, there is also a dufflebag where his clothes and handgun are. ( there is only one bullet in the chamber, and it’s for him. )

Aside from that, and the kitchen and bathroom, his apartment is empty.

What a sad, pathetic life he lives, he thought as he laughed bitterly, and it sounds more like broken gravel than anything else.

He closed his eyes, knowing fully well that sleep won’t come to him tonight, not until a few hours at least, and succumbs to his rolling thoughts. They drown him, pulling him under; he falls, not fighting against the torrent. There is no use in fighting against it.

He remembers Gabriel's bright smile, that smooth voice; he remembers Reinhardt’s booming laughter, his larger than life personality; Ana’s sharp, knowing eyes and her sarcastic comments on his clothes choices. He remembers and the memories don’t stay buried, they haunt him in his wake and in his sleep. He never rests.

Everything goes dark as his mind quiets down and he falls into a fitful sleep.


	3. so far away.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some ghosts never go away, it seems -- but instead they keep on haunting you, even in your sleep.
> 
> OR. gabriel deals with aftermath of a nightmare, and a flash back to when things were good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! sorry it took me this long to update. in any case, i hope you like this ;;

_March 3rd, 2017._   
_Somewhere in the United States of America._

They are staying at a motel somewhere along the road to the next, and last, city of the tour. Amelie and Akande are asleep, Sombra is God only knows where at this late hour, and Gabriel has been staring at the fan for what seemed like an hour now.

Waking up from a nightmare has never been fun, he still feels as though he is still stuck there, fighting against something or someone, going against the current, being dragged down and down until he couldn’t breath—

Taking a deep breath and after he made sure that he is, in fact, still alive and not stuck in that nightmare did he dare to move his numb limbs, standing and then moving on unsteadily on shaking legs, he went to the kitchen where the lights are on, thankfully, because he'd rather not be in a dark place right now. He doesn’t know who turned them on, he doesn’t care. He will ask later when he isn’t shaking and coming down from a panic attack.

He sat down on the small table in the kitchen, freezing cold water bottle in hand. He focuses on that, the biting cold, the condensed drops of water on the bottle; he clenches his hand around it, not daring to close his eyes nor take them off of the table. Gabriel only raised them when he felt himself calmer than before, breath returning to normal, but there is a heavy feeling in his heart, a weight that settles on his shoulders until they sag. A familiar feeling settles inside his bones and heart, neither dragging him down nor lifting him up, just sits there inside of him and makes itself home. He hates this numbness, but for now he will take it, welcomes it; better it than the panic, the paranoia, he felt when he woke up.

His laptop and notebook are on the table where he left them yesterday.. or was it only a few hours ago? He doesn’t know, time blurring together due to his sleep deprivation, and the fact that even after so many years of being in a band and on tour buses, he isn’t used to the beds. God only knows how many hours he has slept, and how many more hours he laid wide awake on his bed, either reading or writing, doing anything to take his mind off of whatever road it goes down on in those quiet moments.

Like right now.

Sighing, it’d be good if he distracted himself and got some work done at the same time. With that in mind he took the notebook and pen, went and got his phone — fully charged, thank God, he’d be frustrated if it turned off on him while he’s still working — and got himself lost in the sounds, in the emotions colouring the singers’ voices, the high and low notes, the screams, the deep basslines, and riffs of the guitar solos. It always helped him.

—

_Then._   
_January 20th, 2000._

They are recording a new album, sitting together in the living room in Ana’s beautifully decorated apartment, and while Gabriel is not going to complain about the apartment he will not stop complaining about the biting cold weather that Canada is so well known for. He is Californian, born and raised, and while California’s weather is fickle at best and an absolute nightmare at worst, it is nowhere near this level of punishing cold that settles deep inside your bones and never leaves no matter how many layers of heavy jackets you wear.

Not everyone was built for this cold.

Each one of them have notebooks open, words scribbled down and some of them were scratched out, doodles cover the margins of the pages; they are working… or rather were working, because all of them are watching the TV now. It’s a movie night, apparently, and Gabriel did say that they’d need to work for a bit so that they wouldn’t stress themselves out when the time comes to get the album ready. They ended up writing the lyrics and notes of their respective instruments before calling it a night.

There are snacks are strewn all over, some on the floor and some on the coffee and side tables, the drinks are placed in front of them on the coffee table so they could all reach them. Ana’s daughter, Fareeha, is already asleep and the TV’s volume isn’t turned up all the way in fear that it'd wake her up, but they could hear the words just fine. They aren’t watching a movie, per se, but a show called Prison Break and so far it’s something. Gabriel is interested in what’s going to happen next, the story is captivating so far, with Scofield scheming day in day out to get him, his brother, and the tag-a-longs that he befriended in his stay in the prison. Befriended is perhaps not the right word, but it’s the only one he could think of at the moment.

The commentaries and curses directed at the characters by both him and Ana, Reinhardt’s and Jack’s stillness and bated breaths during pretty intense scenes, her rolling her eyes at the pretty obvious ones because why wouldn’t the characters know already -- it reminds him of why they do this. The nights where they put their work aside, sit down on couches and floors watching movies and TV shows, these nights reminds him of who they are — they are more than friends, more like a family by this point.

By the end of the episode half of the snacks were gone, his eyes are burning from the lack of sleep and staring at the TV screen for so long, and he could tell from the yawns he heard that the others are equally as tired. Except for Jack, who is getting a Video CD out of his backpack; apparently the guy still has energy left to watch something else.

“Alright, I’m going to pass out on my comfortable bed, I don’t think I can open my eyes any longer than this,” Ana said, cracking her back as she stood up and then collected the trash near her to throw it in the garbage, she never liked a messy place specially if said place was hers. She is a meticulous woman.

Jack looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed but nodded nonetheless, all three of them wishing her goodnight. Before she left she told them where the spare blankets are kept, just in case they wanted to stay over for the night since it is pretty late.

“What’s that?” He asked, curious as to which movie they are going to watch. And he could hear the smile as Jack said the name of the movie and then went on to plug in the DVD player to the television, after that he inserted the VCD in his hand and scooted back into his player on the floor, cushions all around both him and Gabriel.

“Oh, it’s a movie that I always loved. Blade Runner. It’s really, really amazing!” Jack said excitedly, already engrossed in the beginning of the movie even though it had only just begun. He has always been like this, getting so into what he’s doing or watching, giving something his entire attention and only stopping when someone prays him away from it with the promises of something better, or sleep in the most rare cases.

God only knows all of them haven’t had that much sleep these last months, what’s with the company being the way it is.

Sighing, Gabriel grabbed a half-full bag of Lays. Today is a day for relaxing and not thinking about work-related anything. With that thought in mind he turned his focus to the movie, with its neon and holographic visuals.

It does look interesting, he will admit that.

He forgot how many hours have passed since the movie started, what was left of the snacks are now finished. His head was on Jack’s shoulder with the blanket around them, Jack’s hand combing through his hair; both of them so into the movie, with Gabriel providing running commentary whenever it was called for it, Jack humming the soundtrack and sometimes mouthing the dialogue, or on occasions cursing the lead protagonist under his breath.

There is a feeling in his chest that always seemed to bloom and burn and overwhelm him whenever they have these quiet moments together, like it is wishing for something deeper than this, deeper and more profound than what they have now. They haven’t really put a name on what they are these days, but Gabriel knows that the prolonged light touches, the closeness whenever they’re standing, the way Jack would look at him, unreadable but there is something in his eyes, like a longing, before looking away and returning to what he was doing. There is a part of Gabriel that hopes for something he doesn’t know if he is imagining or its real.

He knows for sure that he does the same — the touches, the quiet conversations between them, the closeness, everything. He just doesn’t want his heart to be broken when his hopes get shot down because he was too foolish, too naive, to think that Jack could ever love him. He doesn’t want to be the first one to do it…

But God he wants to kiss the man sometimes, to hold him close in his arms, to wake up and see him there, next to him, and not on another bunk bed in a tour bus. He wants, but he is afraid of so many things and that stops him every time.

So this. This.. is the closest he would ever get.

By the end of the movie his eyes are burning from staring for so long at the screen in a dark room, his back and neck are complaining at him for sitting in a very uncomfortable position — they are both the same height, so he had to shift and do some gymnastics just so he could rest his head on Jack’s broad shoulder — and he is too tired to keep them open any longer. So with a groan he stood up, briefly lamented the loss of the warmth and comfort, and cleaned up the place along with Jack. They took out the spare blankets and pillows, then proceeded to flop gracelessly -- can you blame them though? They’ve been up ever since the morning -- onto the sofas available.

They’re parallel to one another, and if Gabriel wasn’t tired he’d have thought of something poetic to say about that. It’s quiet, peaceful, but for some reason even while he is tired he cannot help but think that there is something in the air, some tension, or maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s just his wishful thinking...

Shifting so he’d be more comfortable and tucking himself deep beneath the blankets, he closed his eyes and wished Jack goodnight. Between sleep and wakefulness, he still heard the softly uttered “goodnight,” and his heart beat just constricted, a feeling settled deep inside his heart bloomed at the softness of that rough voice. He had to remind himself that this was all wishful thinking, all of this… the hope, the feeling that he dares not to name -- not now, not when he isn’t sure if that feeling is reciprocated, so that he wouldn’t do it for thing. He knows that he wears his heart on his sleeve, but he also knows that if made the first move and it was all in vain, he’d be the one who is hurt in the end. So he dares not to do it.

Sighing again, he turned and shifted, his mind is still racing with thoughts that make his heart flutter within his chest. After a while of staring at the back of his eyelids, everything went dark and he fell asleep.


	4. announcement.

hi everyone ! author here with a super quick announcement to make.

i have decided to stop writing this fic because frankly speaking i became more into comics and so i lost any interest i had in overwatch. i am just not as invested in it as i was a year ago and i don't think i'll pick this fic any time soon.

so i'm officially announcing it discontinued. i'm gonna orphan it and leave it on this site for whoever wants to go and read the first 3 chapters of it.

to everyone who supported me and this fic: thank you so much, i love you for listening to me ramble about rock and metal history and for encouraging me to write it !!! i'm sorry about the news but i cannot bring myself to continue writing it anymore.

and thank you, every one of you, who left kudoses and comments and bookmarked it !!

❤❤❤❤


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